


Just A Novella

by motoroilfreeway



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, actor!england, ghost writer!america, rip matthew williams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-12
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-17 02:14:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9299624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motoroilfreeway/pseuds/motoroilfreeway
Summary: There's just something tragic with your brother accidentally stealing the man of your dreams because he's wearing your methaporical glass slippers.or that “I’m my brother’s ghostwriter because I want to be and I’m cool with it until one of my books gets a movie adaptation and it turns out that my celebrity crush gets to play as the main character and holy shit I could meet them until I find out that I’m not technically involved with the book so I’m not allowed to meet them and I’m crying” AU that no one wanted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tentaively titled “Just a novella” bc I literally named this as I went along writing. I’m inherently lazy. I’ll call this the “I’m my brother’s ghostwriter because I want to be and I’m cool with it until one of my books gets a movie adaptation and it turns out that my celebrity crush gets to play as the main character and holy shit I could meet them until I find out that I’m not technically involved with the book so I’m not allowed to meet them and I’m crying” AU.  
> tbh I’m not used to this kind of writing, in like, ever, so I have no idea if I’ll ever bother writing a second part (a.k.a. the legit closure) but we’ll see. Also I think my sister said I went too far with this au for reasons I’m embarrassed to say bc I’m easily pushed around by family critics.  
> Warnings for Alfred’s broken heart and prolly Matthew’s imminent death at the hands of his crazy twin.  
> Starring  
> Alfred as the ghost writer  
> Matthew as the poor guy that got pushed into a lot of stuff he doesn’t deserve and  
> Arthur as mr. perfect

                “Hi, I’m Catherine. My friends call me Erin. Big fan.”

Alfred smiles at the sight of yet another one, shaking hands eagerly and handing her book to be signed.

“I like your new book, squealed when it got the first place in my local bookstore’s best sellers but Swan’s Song will always have a special place in my heart.” She says, as her name is being written in sharp cursive. Alfred’s ears perk up at his fan’s comment, wanted to ask for more about it but their time together is limited. He had to take care of a couple more before they can call the book signing over.

Not that Alfred minds, really. Who doesn’t like fans?

“It was the first book from yours that I read, see? And it really changed me as a kid back then so after that I went after the rest of yours,” she started ranting, Alfred turning his ears to the side to better hear her, heart beating fast and mind afloat in joy. He loves it when people show their love for his work. He’s also quite proud of how Swan’s song ended up. It’s one of the first books he got published that won tons of awards.

“And now here we are!” She breathes out, nervously, lips pulled into a tight grin. Cannot place the happiness in seeing and being able to talk to her favourite author, in the flesh, it seems.

She gets a delighted nod of the head and a thank you for her continued support, at which she nods at enthusiastically, holding the signed book close to her chest---to her heart---as she does so.

“I always will!” She says, before Alfred had to raise his hand, calling for her attention from the booth, to say, “Time’s up!” Smiling.

She nods and waves at the booth and finally leaves for good. Another one was quick to replace her once Alfred gives the sign that it’s alright to approach now. They’ve got two minutes tops before they got to move.

Matthew was good with people, that’s all Alfred’s got to say. He can easily make small conversations, make them talk about Alfred’s books and reply just as well like he was the one who actually wrote them and went through Alfred’s struggles as a writer.

Oh yeah, had he mentioned that before?

He’s ghost-writing for his brother Matthew Williams; going under the pseudonym John Foster, a name Alfred came up for himself when he started writing.

It wasn’t like he hates his job. In fact, he likes it. He loves it.

The privacy, that is.

It took a while before he got his brother to play along: to submit the manuscripts himself to big-ass publishers and get them published for real and claim the copyrights for himself because Alfred trusts Matthew with a bunch of things and that Matthew is more likeable than him, anyway.

Looking at it now, Alfred smiling when another fan yet again talks about his books, more than happy to engage with his brother about some of them and asking something about certain characters, Alfred can say that he was right.

This is a perfect set-up.

When Matthew was done dealing with the last fan, bidding them a farewell and a safe trip home, Alfred signals for the rest of the staff, calling it a day. Matthew sighs in relief, slouching into his seat once the last fan leaves through the door and out of sight. It had been a busy day, people entering the bookstore more frequently than they usually do for the book-signing event and to get a glimpse of a celebrity.

Alfred smiles, giving his brother a gentle smack to the back for the job well-done. Matthew smiles at him in return, happily accepting the cold bottle of water he was handed with, the one on his table had long gone warm.

He chuckles when Alfred handed him a dry towel to wipe the sweat on his forehead. It had been warm, despite the AC in the building.

“Thanks, Mom.” He says. Alfred grins.

“Anything for Mr Foster.” Matthew’s face reddens, still uncomfortable with taking credit that wasn’t meant for him. Alfred bites the inside of his cheek, feeling somewhat guilty for the weight he put on his brother and gives him a gentle pat to the back for it.

“Your brother is gonna make the interns lose their jobs, you know,” Sam says, as he slowly approaches the two. He looks more amused than annoyed, eyeing the busy interns as they clean up the mess they made in the bookstore, now that the event is over.

“They’re interns, not my Mom,” Matthew replies, biting the side of his cheek, trying not to laugh when Alfred smacks him upside the head. “They’re supposed to be keeping the line in check and the schedule followed to a tee.” Alfred adds.

Sam blinks, “Wow, you guys sure do that ‘finishing each other’s sentences’ a lot, huh?” He whistles lowly. The twins will never cease to amaze him, is what he always says.

“Aren’t you busy with your family farm back at home?” He turns to Alfred.

“Nah, it can survive for a day without me in it, I think.”

“Hm, fair enough, I guess.” Sam shrugs, pulling out a small notepad from his back pocket as he does so. He flips it open, the pages worn out from all the flipping and writing he does on it.

“Let’s see,” he mumbles, “Oh right!” he exclaims his eyes skim through a page, reading his messy notes before he finally turns to look at Matthew.

“Forget me not,” he starts, “gets a movie adaptation!” Alfred jumps, eyes wide.

“What? Really! Holy shit!” He exclaims, feeling his entire body shake, his blood boiling. He never had a movie adaptation before.

Matthew throws a quick glance at Alfred, stiffening when Alfred suddenly grabs his shoulders and started shaking him. “Hear that, Matt? We’re getting a movie!”

“O-oh, yeah!” He says, wide-eyed but for a different reason.

Alfred gets a strange look from Sam. “You’re one hell of a supportive brother, aren’t you?”

“Are you kidding? Forget me not was the best thing Matt has ever written, man! Who wouldn’t be happy for that?” _The best thing he ever_ wrote, more like. Then “Wait,” Alfred says, excitement running through his veins. “Who’s going to play as Joseph?”

“Yeah, I was about to get there,” Sam says. He nods to the twins before showing them his notes, a finger pointing at the messy scribble in the lowermost right corner of the pad, his handwriting smaller and messier. He quirks a brow as he reads, “Well, it says here that audition schedule is still tentative,” then he slams his notepad shut.

“Kind of heard that Arthur Kirkland is interested in Joseph’s role though,” he adds, scratching at the back of his head.

“We’ll probably see him at the auditions, Matt.” Sam tells Matthew.

“Holy-fucking-crap.” Alfred breathes out.

Arthur Kirkland. British, sexy as hell and his favourite actor. Also british. And cute.

His celebrity crush will be playing as the character that Alfred designed based on said crush.

It’s a dream come true.

He grabs for his brother’s shoulders again, shaking him harder than last time, “Ow, goddamnit, Alfred, it hurts!”

“Don’t slap me in case I wake up from a dream! I think I’m gonna die!” He screams at his brother’s face, at which he gets slapped for, the force harder than Alfred had expected and crumples to the ground, leaving him into a sobbing mess on the floor. They’re sobs of joy.

He’s gonna meet Arthur Kirkland.

 

            “What do you mean I can’t meet Arthur Kirkland?” He exclaims voice hoarser than he had expected but too angry to care.

It just wasn’t fair that the guy who doesn’t give a shit for Arthur will get to shake hands and talk to him when Alfred---who owned every poster and bought every magazine he was featured in---can’t.

Matthew---the dickbag---had the gall to sigh and look sympathetic. “I’m really sorry but Sam said that the crew is really careful about having leaks.”

“Why the fuck would I do something so stupid?” He’s a writer for god’s sake. Who doesn’t know about that any better than him?

“I know, I know,” Alfred opens his mouth, about to ask, “then why won’t they let me?” but Matthew was quick to interrupt, “I’m _the_ writer here, remember?” He begins, looking away as he sighs tiredly, a hand absently running through his long hair. “You’re just my brother that I let tag along because you’re my,” he raises his hands, making quotation marks with his fingers in the air, “number one fan.”

Alfred blinks and Matthew looks at him humourlessly. He deadpans to Alfred, “Who thought making your twin ‘take the spotlight’ was a good idea again?”

“Fuck!”

“Thought so.”

 

             Today’s the big day.

Matt is officially invited into the best thing ever and the funny thing is that he doesn’t even deserve the credit to get him there. Alfred _does_.

Then again, remembering Matt’s words that night before, _he deserved it for being a dick._

In Alfred’s defense, anyone other than Matt wouldn’t _mind_ getting pushed into the spot light to be admired and amazed at by people every time Alfred publishes something that ends up being a top bestseller.

He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.

He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.

He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland. He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland. He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland. He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland. He really wanted to meet Arthur Kirkland.

Now that the thought returned to his mind he couldn’t stop thinking about it anymore.

He felt himself in the brink of crying, tears prickling the backs of his eyes, his jaw tightening as he takes a crude bite at the handful of popcorn he pops into his mouth, accidentally nipping at the tips of his fingers. Must’ve bitten a knuckle. Must’ve hurt. Who cares, he’s not meeting Arthur Kirkland.

 _What’s the point of life, really._ He thinks bitterly. He lifts his head towards the ceiling and blinks. Kind of surprised that tears actually leaked out, even though it was just a little bit.

He hears Arthur---currently playing as a fictional character---say something that he knows by heart. He loved this movie. His favourite of Arthur’s so far, in his years as a demented fan.

He looks just in time Arthur presses two fingers on his ears, listening in on a phone call of his current target.

Alfred’s eyes light up along the metaphorical light bulb on the side of his head---dings and all.

He silently pulls out his phone, sliding and tapping until he comes across Matt’s contact and presses call. He pauses the movie and presses the phone speaker to his ear.

He listens.

For a few seconds, he hears Matt’s phone ring, but that’s fine, he’s not worried because waiting for a bit more his work isn’t in vain when it suddenly picks up and he hears no annoyed voice of his brother being exasperated and tired of his “whining”.

Instead, he hears muffled noises. As usual, Matt’s phone is in his pocket and set to silent mode, meaning he accidentally pressed the answer button.

The universe is still aligned for Alfred to meet his crush after all.

He increases his phone’s audio to maximum, sets it to loudspeaker and presses it harder to his ear, to better hear if _Matt has already made contact, the dick._

It takes him a while to adjust to the noises, hears a ton of shouts of mumblings and “cuts!” until he hears a couple more of shuffling of fabric that he assumes was from Matt moving again and he hopes quietly that it wouldn’t accidentally make Matt’s phone to end the call.

He feels his entire being go completely still when he makes out the muffled yet recognisable accent.

Like, he’ll be the last person on earth to not know when it’s Arthur Kirkland speaking on the other end of the line---muffled or not.

For some strange reason, Matt speaks louder than he thought he was capable of, making everything they say very comprehensible so he thinks whatever the fuck he may do to Matt later is logical and totally not based on something that has no context at all.

“—big fan! I was hoping you aren’t free tonight, I want to talk to you about some of your best works over dinner.”

That’s a fucking date right? And after he waits with bated breath, blood cold and boiling hot at the same time from nerves and jealousy he hears his brother shuffle again before saying a meek yes.

Then again, it’s _Matt_ , for god’s sake. Maybe he’s just being a demented fanboy, like the usual. _It’s Matt_ , his _logical_ side of the brain says again, trying its hardest to just not drive all the way to the venue and punch the living daylights out of his brother.

 _Calm the fuck down_ , he says to himself. He listens, closing his eyes and breathing in and out slowly, if not shaking.

Then he fucking cracks when he hears Arthur’s voice, amused as he laughs---and goddamn if that aint’t the nicest sound he had ever heard because for once it wasn’t from acting.

“It’s a date.”

Yep, Matt’s dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Uh, this is Al. Alfred. My twin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all who commented! Love you all.  
> Here's your reward haha.

                First and foremost, Arthur is an actor.

Second, he’s a big fan of J. Foster since Swan’s Song---a personal favourite.

So it’s only logical that he will be one of the many who was present for the auditions. There’s no better way to show his love and respect for the author but to play the role of one of his great characters.

He knows he’s famous, he knows his agent had already told him with glee that a couple backed out for the role when they heard Arthur’s interested but that doesn’t stop his heart from beating too fast in his chest, wracking his entire body asunder as he walks into the spot light to recite some lines, right after he had introduced himself.

Somehow, he felt that this was not like any auditions he had ever done. He feels like a little boy again, on his very first audition, his mum watching behind the curtains, her fingers crossed as Arthur recites and acts.

Then again, he didn’t feel in any way nervous on his first audition. Doesn’t need to because he wasn’t expecting to be picked anyway. That role didn’t matter.

But this one does.

Foster sits among the judges, pages papers scattered on his table, his attention on them as he reads a couple of lines, then as if he felt Arthur’s gaze, he turns his head up and smiles at him encouragingly. Arthur couldn’t help himself from returning the smile tenfold.

Then he performed, like he was on his very first audition once again.

 

                The results will come in a few weeks, the staff told them. Arthur accepts and was about to leave when he sees J. Foster still by the stage, clearing a few things, talking to the judges and preparing to leave.

Arthur finds himself pausing, mouth going dry and his palms sweating.

He opens his mouth slowly, then turns his head towards his agent, silently asking if this was allowed. Will it affect his eligibility if he makes contact with the author?

Agent shakes her head, thinks it was fine and gives him a go. On second thought, she says, she thinks she’ll accompany Arthur in case things go wrong. Just in case.

He finds himself smiling at her gratefully, his agent shaking her head she walks ahead of him. “Don’t mention it,” she says.

“Mr. Foster, yes?” She begins, calling the author’s attention among others.

Foster stops from his fiddling, the papers all scattered still and quite in disarray, Arthur observes with a small frown. He didn’t really expect the author to be so unkempt.

Foster doesn’t seem to hear Arthur’s thoughts, pausing and turning his head towards him and his agent, smiling warmly at them.

“Uh, that’s me! Yes?” He tells her before nodding at the rest of the crew, they nod back and go on with their usual tasks, eventually heading for the exit and some just a bit far to give them some privacy.

“It’s just, Arthur is such a big fan! He wants to have a word, if that’s alright?”

Foster blinks, lifting the messy pile of what Arthur now assumes were scripts up until he’s cradling them close to his chest. “Uh, yeah, sure. It’s fine.”

Arthur’s agent---Angie---frowns in concern. “It wouldn’t affect his scores, would it?” She says, looking around and eyeing the crew.

“Oh, no, no! Don’t worry about it,” He says, arms lifting, probably about to rise but didn’t because of the load he’s carrying. Arthur wonders why he carries so much paper for someone who’s supposed to know a lot about the novel. Then again, Arthur’s no writer, so he doesn’t dwell too much on it. “I don’t really have much reign in this movie, to be honest. I mean, they consult me for some characterisation and the plot but they will still have the final say for who gets to play who. I just tell them if this one guy needs more workshops or something.”

“So um,” J. Foster’s eyes move towards Arthur’s, his gaze light. “Arthur Kirkland, right?” He smiles, all teeth and white. “My brother is a big fan.”

 _Oh_ , he thinks. Then he smiles, because he’s a gentleman, “He has my thanks.” He says. It makes J. Foster smile.

“Arthur Kirkland, pleased to meet you.” He says as he approaches closer, hand darting out to offer a handshake at which the author holds against his, strong and firm. He smiles again, “Big fan.”

“Or so I heard,” J. Foster says with humour. They both find themselves laughing lowly at this, Arthur finding his eyes darting towards Angie who nods, absently waving her phone at him---hey way of saying Arthur’s free for the night.

He clears his throat, “I was hoping you are free tonight so we can talk about your books over dinner.author looks at him strangely, and Arthur hopes it was just his imagination that the smile on the other’s face appeared more forced than usual. Arthur feels like his tie was wrapped too tight around his neck tonight, finds himself wanting to reach out and pull to loosen it up a bit. But he didn’t and instead he adds, “If that’s alright with you.”

It looks like it definitely isn’t.

Foster started looking a bit flustered---troubled, really---and he looks around, probably looking for some help and before Arthur ruins anything any more further he pulls at Angie’s arm, making the woman yelp silently. “Angie will be with us, if you want. Right, Ange?”

Angie gives him a look that says she’s definitely not alright with the arrangement at all, but smiles and nods at J. Foster anyway. “Of course it is.” Translation: You’re going to owe me big.

”Oh, no, it’s okay.” J. Foster says, head turning left and right quickly, slightly backing away and hitching his papers closer towards himself.

“It’s just dinner, my agent wouldn’t mind.” He adds. “No need to trouble yourself.” He tells Angie. She sighs in relief next to Arthur.

He turns to Arthur. “So, there’s this place not too far from here. Sam---my agent---can drive us there.”

Arthur nods, agreeing, he’s probably happy now because he gets to talk to his favourite author in private. He doesn’t really know how to feel anymore at this point. It’s probably due to his prolonged exposure to J. Foster’s presence.

 

                “ _You fucking slut_!”

Arthur finds himself frozen at the parking lot not too far away from the venue, slightly wondering how in the world things managed to fuck up so much.

A few feet from him was J. Foster, crumpled on the ground, screaming.

Everything was fine a few minutes prior: Arthur and J. Foster with Sam the Agent were simply on their way to J. Foster’s work vehicle, having decided to use the author’s van to get to the nearby restaurant. Then out of nowhere, something charges right at the author, taking Arthur and Sam by surprise.

For a bloody minute, he thought he’s actually watching what real American football looks like, with how heavy that body slam looks like. It was so fast, it’s terrifying. He feared for J. Foster’s well-being.

It takes the agent a few moments, watching with the actor how J. Foster slammed into the ground, a body over him, arms punching and scratching and pulling before he moves on his feet and joins in the…fight.

Arthur really couldn’t call it a fight, no. The author didn’t do anything but curl on the ground, arms crossed around his face and chest, protecting vital areas as the assaulter continued his onslaught of attacks, screaming obscenities along the way.

Somehow, Sam manages to drag the attacker off by the shoulders, both men panting. Arthur was actually impressed that Sam managed to drag the other off the author, really.

Foster’s attacker is quite big, it’s terrifying.

Then someone shouts not too far from them. Arthur looks and goes “Oh,” silently. It was the security.

He wanted to roll his eyes at how cliché it was of them to come in right when everything is sort of settled down.

“What’s going on here?” The security says, his radio already pulled out and aimed at his mouth to report to the other side. Arthur interjects.

“This man right here _attacked_ him. We were just walking when he came out of nowhere and charged him into the ground.”

The security nods, “We got some assault here,” he says to the radio before placing it back in his belt and pulls out a pair of handcuffs, silver and shiny. Arthur wonders if it had been used before.

“We’ll take care of that,” he nods to Sam, at the attacker firmly secured in his hold, still struggling the choke hold and grunting, all aimed at the author still. The security turns to J. Foster, “We’ll need your statement at the station.”

To Arthur’s surprise, the author shakes his head at that. Smiles apologetically at the security and it brings about a frown on Arthur’s face, mad for the author’s behalf.

He was _attacked_ unprovoked. The bloke deserves what was coming to him!

“It’s okay, really. I’m not planning on suing. Um, I know him.” He nods at Sam, who nodded back.

“It’s a…” J. Foster falters, then frowns heavily. Like a disappointed parent. “…misunderstanding.”

Then he sighs, all that frown leaving all at once before glancing at his attacker, who had gone submissive while the author was talking. He now had his head turned from the author, his face still obscured from Arthur and the security.

“Right, Al?”

There’s a grunt, then a groan when Sam kicks the back of his legs when he refused to answer, prompting the other to talk.

“Okay already!” Arthur thinks he had heard the other mutter “slut” in his breath but shrugs it off as imagination.

Then the attacker was finally released and slowly, he turns towards Arthur and the security and it makes them both gasp.

He looks so much like J. Foster.

“Uh, this is Al. Alfred.” J. Foster gestures with his arm lamely, at Arthur.

“My twin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharing some little secret.  
> So mostly, the reason why I publish my fics is because they are wanted. People like it. That sort of thing.  
> Or its self-indulgent, meaning I like it lol. This one here, it's not really supposed to get written at all, because my sister rejected the idea since she thinks I went too far but I got demands so I wrote a 2nd part.  
> So here's the deal, to make everything fair: I'll start writing the next part if I get 10+ comments. That's it. "Please update" and "Love it" don't count, obviously lol.
> 
> (threw my pineapple chunk off my pizza and misaimed. It ricocheted off to my dog's (name: beef) head to his bowl. I apologised. Hopefully he forgave me. He's such a champ)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I told you, I don’t like lizards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe it only took like, a WEEK before you guys managed to fill the quota. Truly amazed at the power of the fans. Y’all amazing, thank you so much for all the nice comments ((((:  
> Chapter is obviously short. I while in the middle of proof-reading---adding/deleting scenes---I was suddenly struck with a very strong migraine. Literally can’t look at the screen without my head exploding. Apologies.

                A smack resounds throughout the parking lot.

Or just in Alfred’s head, really. It makes his vision go blurry, nonetheless, like the earth was trembling. He’s hearing a high pitched noise ring from both of his ears and the sensations piss him off. Matt slaps hella hard. He scowls, smacking his brother’s hand away.

Then he aims for a punch, feeling unreasonably irritable all of a sudden, his mood sour.

At which Matt was quick to defend, his arm raising on impulse and Alfred’s punch was successfully blocked and caused no damage whatsoever on the other. The purpling bruise on his eyebrow was something that lit Alfred’s mood though, as little as it may be.

After Matt and Sam’s team effort at explaining the situation to the security with Alfred’s face as further proof, the man had finally left them to their own devices but not without a warning to Alfred, a quick “Don’t be afraid to call for help if things go out of hand again, alright?” and a sharp look of warning at Alfred and he’s off, back to his usual rounds around the area.

They all sigh in relief---Matt and Sam, that is---and then Matt’s back to being a self-righteous dick and drags Alfred a little bit far from Sam and anyone else who can hear them to “smack some sense into his brother.”

Literally.

“The fuck was that?” Matt exclaims, _very_ angry. Red-faced, really as he angrily points at the bruise on his face. If he wasn’t so quick to block after one strike, his face would’ve swollen like a bruised tomato right now.

Matt’s question just flares Alfred’s rage though, the thought of ever getting scared of a pissed twin went all down the drain in seconds.

He takes a slow step forward, eyebrows furrowed and eyes angry. He raises a finger and presses it into Matt’s chest with all his fury, “You stole him from me,” in the hopes that the other would feel the pain he’s feeling right now. Because it hurt, it really did.

Matt is his brother, his bestest friend in all of the world. The guy pretty much knows him inside out at this point! So, of course, Alfred knows that Matt knows how much Arthur Kirkland meant to him. He’s Alfred’s everything.

Alfred didn’t kill Matt when Matt said that he thinks Arthur is “not that cute” because that’s the sibling code for “Alright, he’s all yours.” Hearing Matt flirting shamelessly with the guy, stealing Alfred’s credit  (not on purpose, he knows) and blatantly accepting what obviously sounds like a dinner date is like a fucking wire cutter that cut their metaphorical friendship bracelet that says “BFFs 4 lyfe” apart.

He was startled when he felt Matt’s warm hands wrap around his, all cold and stiff because he forgot to put on gloves when he went out for a power-drive, in the hopes that he won’t be arriving swan lake-late to god-knows-what-romantic-restaurant and see from a window how his brother is successfully hitting it off with the man of his dreams. If it all comes to that, Alfred knows in himself that he won’t be able to do anything to that but get the fuck off because in the end of the day, he loves Matt more than anything and Arthur too, he guess and if they find happiness with each other, then he’ll be happy.

As for his heart…well. See Odette for details. ‘Nuff said.

Alfred looks up and was surprised to note that he had been probably staring for far too alarmingly long on his own finger still jabbed at his brother’s chest, his face the face of the miserable.

There’s a frown on Matt’s face too, then he smiles. Just a teeny tiny bit, to say that he’s sad too but is trying to be positive for both of their sakes.

“It’s a misunderstanding, Al.” He says, calmly. Then his lips quirks up higher, his eyes warmer and kind of _wetter_ , he adds, “I told you, I don’t like lizards.”

Somehow, Matt’s usual asshole-ry brings a smile on Alfred’s face.

He sniffs before punching the other weakly on the shoulder. Matt laughs at the contact, a giggle passes through his lips without permission.

“He doesn’t even look the part, asshole.” Is Alfred’s reply. Like always.

 

                Once the twins return to Arthur and Sam, who were both looking on in concern and worry as the two spoke quite animatedly but unfortunately inaudible for them both to make out anything else from what may appear like just a regular sibling fight, Arthur was informed by the very apologetic author that as he had said earlier, it was a simple misunderstanding that went over-board.

He then pushes his twin towards the actor’s direction. Arthur notes that the man had gotten more pliant and timid, far from the one that terrified Arthur to hell and back with how heavy its attacks had landed on the poor, unsuspecting author. The visible swelling a little ways away from J. Foster’s eye was a proof of that.

“I,” the twin starts, eyes a shade of startling blue---different from J. Foster’s purple—are looking everywhere but Arthur’s. His expression appears subdued, eyebrows scrunched in what appears to be distress, lips upturned into a pout and Arthur idly finds it shocking, almost believed for a moment that the man before him was the author himself, with how much the brothers looked so much alike.

Identical twins, they’re such an anomaly.

Despite the thick coats covering the brothers’ forms to protect themselves from the early December chill, Arthur can see how both even have the same physique.

“I’m sorry.” He manages to breathe out, face now turned low, aimed towards the ground that made it difficult for Arthur to see what kinds of expression he’s making  now, with that one same face of the man right behind him.

For a moment, it takes Arthur aback, at the apology, that is. Confused, was what he had felt, having forgotten that this was, indeed, the same man who attacked J. Foster out of nowhere, unprovoked. Arthur remembers the rage he had felt in J. Foster’s place, how he had thought the twin had deserved to be jailed for assault and battery.

Then not anymore.

He had siblings, three of them, in fact. The only difference he had with J. Foster was that he was in no way the same age as the three of the dollopheads he had as brothers. Too much age gap so he could barely join in on their idle conversations, doesn’t understand why they like to play certain games, and being way older than Arthur was, they tend to bully him and make his life hell.

That doesn’t mean they do not care, they just really happen to be the high bred arseholes.

So, in a way, he understands how sibling fights work.

With the way he and Sam had seen the brothers converse on their own earlier, he thinks it’s nothing serious.

Arthur feels himself grow warm in his coat, face heating up and hands raising in a dismissive matter. He stutters out, “A-ah, no, it’s all alright. I’m sorry, too, really.”

His apology prompts the twin to look at him, like, _finally_ look at him, eyes and all. He seemed hopeful, eyes wide and attentive and it makes Arthur grow all the warmer at the intensity of his gaze.

He’s an actor, a celebrity, basically a public figure and he knows in himself that it should take him more than an intense stare---he’s had one or twenty of those before---to turn him into a blubbering mess, but he supposes it was all due to the strange and fast-paced changes that suddenly happened to him in a span of no longer than thirty minutes.

“I shouldn’t have, er,” Arthur starts trailing off, suddenly tongue-tied, brain buffering as he thinks of better words that wouldn’t ruin his image so much... and failing.

“Tried to sue you,” he blurts out in the end, the words awkward and just plain _wrong_ in his tongue, its taste unpleasant as he swallows. “In Mr Foster’s behalf.”

There wasn’t any change in the twin’s expression, luckily for Arthur, maybe. He’s just…staring, into Arthur’s face, eyes still wide and deep and horrifyingly blue.

Foster coughs behind them, eyes glancing momentarily at Sam and nodding before speaking, “You can just call me Matthew---Matt---since, well,” he gestures at his twin, who doesn’t pay the author any mind.

Arthur uses that as an excuse to pull away from the intensity of those eyes, no matter how hard it was to do, glancing behind J. Fos---Matthew’s twin to look at the man himself. He stutters, once again to his shame, and manages one shaky nod, internally giddy at the fact that he got to know his favourite author’s name behind the pseudonym. It makes him feel special amongst the sea of J. Foster’s number one fans.

Then, “Oh, right, apologies.” Arthur laughs, all the nerves gone, like they were flushed away by the warmth he had felt inside his chest. He manages to return his gaze at Matthew’s twin this time, eyes crinkled and a wide smile on his lips.

He offers his hand, “Arthur Kirkland.”

It was easily grabbed by a very cold hand, unprotected by gloves from the chill. Then another hand covers his hand and it was shaken very firmly, a sign of a very dominant personality, so unlike what Arthur would expect from a seemingly silent and timid person.

Maybe Matthew’s twin is as overbearing as he had first appeared to be.

No one naturally withdrawn and timid would charge someone they hate, after all.

“Alfred Jones, _my pleasure_.” He smiles, all white teeth and glowing eyes.

Even the way he speaks: same voice but different intonation and volume.

It’s strong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *See Odette for details: reference to that non-disney swan lake animated movie. Had a sequel. Both movies are pretty great.  
> **I told you, I don’t like lizards: reference to tumblr being at some point, had been obsessed with “lizard/reptile-faced british men” like Tom Hiddleston and Bendroflumethiazide Cumbernstatch. …gotta admit, did had a fleeting crush with the latter. He does look like a frilled lizard tho. A hot frilled lizard.
> 
> we still go with the 10+ comments rule but the length really varies on how my head writes them down. Sometimes it goes non-stop but right now...nothing. Just MIGRAINE and WHITE LIGHTS. They hurt TTATT

**Author's Note:**

> E/N: Some important notes:  
> Alfred’s pseudonym is J. Foster and anyone not UK, Canada, or US mentioned in this fic are OCs.
> 
> May or may not get a sequel. Really gonna be based on popular demand.


End file.
